


An Intimate Arrangement

by tiger_moran



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Anal Sex, Aromantic Character, Bisexual Character, F/M, Fuckbuddies, Pegging, Sex Toys, Strap-Ons, Tumblr: otpprompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-17 06:18:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4655844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiger_moran/pseuds/tiger_moran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She cares for him and he cares for her, she doubts that will ever change, and she will always be glad too that regardless of wherever he ends up in the future, still they shared these strange acts of intimacy.</p><p>Based on the Tumblr OTP Prompts blog prompt "Imagine Person A pegging Person B."</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Intimate Arrangement

**Author's Note:**

> Moran/Winter is not quite my OTP but since I saw that prompt I kept thinking about this even when I was supposed to be writing about something else entirely.
> 
> This takes place before Moran and Moriarty become a couple and well before Kitty encounters Baron Gruner.

    She has long known that Moran likes men – she could tell from the subtle ways he glanced at certain other men from time to time. Of course he could never be too forthright about it around most people but once she asked him he did not deny it. If anything he seemed relieved that she had raised the matter.

     “Does it bother you?” he’d asked. “That I’ve been with men too?”

    And Kitty had laughed, finding it half comical and half incredibly sweet how vexed he looked, as if he was terrified of offending her – this hot-tempered ex-soldier so capable of violence, who she is sure has killed other men and not been overly troubled by this; truly though he seemed concerned about her feelings. “Why would it?” she had asked in return. She suspects that it is something that many men have indulged in, even if they won’t admit to it or consider it only something they did as boys or when they were far from home during war. Moran is only different to most of them in that he continues to indulge himself with men when he neither a schoolboy nor in the army, and he feels no shame for it either.

     It does not bother her. Whatever Moran’s feelings for other men, he likes women also; he likes _her_. When she takes him like _this_ , reducing him to a helpless writhing mess beneath her, she is certain that it is because he values her and because he enjoys the act and not at all because he is merely secretly fantasising that Kitty is a man and that the rod she slides inside him is a real organ rather than one carved from wood.

     It was not an easy thing to acquire, nor cheap – this phallus of dense, smooth wood – but Kitty has contacts in some of the strangest of places, one of whom was finally able to procure her such a thing. An obscene thing no doubt but, she feels, not _too_ obscene – she was adamant that it be neither too thick nor too long so as not to make it look utterly ridiculous. A configuration of supple leather straps hold it securely in place and it is, she has always been pleased to note, surprisingly comfortable to wear.

     She has him bent over the bed, naked, with his head bowed. His back is sheened with sweat and she watches how his muscles move beneath the skin as his hands clench beneath the pillow which muffles most of his cries and curses. It is a most intoxicating sight, she thinks, seeing a strong man like this. He is not wholly submissive. Kitty has heard other girls talk of how there are men who demand to be tied up and whipped and trampled on with ladies’ boots and are willing to submit to all sorts of other acts of complete domination, relishing their total degradation at the hands of a woman, but Seb is not like that. However he _is_ intensely vulnerable in times like this. That knowledge only adds to Kitty’s excitement.

     She thrusts her hips slowly but steadily, driving the toy deep inside him with skill and care. She knows how much pressure she can use; how much is not enough; how much borders on too much. She remains partly clothed, having removed her dress and underskirts (these only get in the way and make her far too hot) but leaving on corset, drawers and stockings. She prefers it that way, relishing the further suggestion of control this implies when she retains clothing but Moran is completely bared for her.

     Strands of her red hair fall over her brow and she pushes them back with one hand before returning that hand to its place upon Moran’s hip, gripping him tightly, holding him securely in place. Looking down she can easily see where the phallus enters his body; how the shaft glistens with oil as she eases it out a little way before driving it back in at a slightly different angle.

      “Kitty, Kitty, _fuck_ ,” Moran cries into the pillow, then gasps out something more she cannot make out, though whether it is only because it is muffled or because he has switched to some other language she doesn’t know she could not say. It hardly matters to her, only that he still remembers precisely who is fucking him.

     When Kitty was a mere child an older girl, a part-time prostitute, told her whilst drunk how best to reduce a man to a quivering wreck in the bedroom. “What you do, Kit, is you stick your finger up his arse,” she’d said, laughing as she confided this information to the younger (though still not particularly naïve) girl. “There’s a spot up inside his arse that if you touch it just right he’ll go off like a prize stallion!” And Kitty had taken that information and filed it away in her mind until, some years later, she finally put it to use. Some men, she learned, would never permit it. Some would tentatively permit it but got little from the experience. Some though, as that drunken ladybird of years before had promised, reacted most vigorously. It was Sebastian though who responded best of all.

     Which led them to this, and he takes this so beautifully and moans so prettily for her. She is not in love with him nor him with her, despite whatever notions he might have had at the start of their acquaintance, but that is all right with both of them. She suspects that despite his high regard for the so-called fairer sex he will end up with a male lover in the end; is sure in fact that there is already someone he has fallen for, though it seems he is in doubt over whether his regard for this man will ever be reciprocated. But she cares for him and he cares for her, she doubts that will ever change, and she will always be glad too that regardless of wherever he ends up in the future, still they shared these strange acts of intimacy.

      Another strand of hair falls over her face but not wanting to relinquish her tight grip on Moran’s hips this time she only blows this out the way. She too is perspiring freely now. It is warm work even without the further layers of clothing on, plus there is an additional warmth between her legs; the heat of her arousal as she roughly fucks her lover. Her fingers dig tightly into his hipbones; she wants to mark him just a little, just enough so he cannot forget this too soon – so he won’t forget how he writhed and groaned and practically _begged_ for her to take him.

     He arches off the bed, his hips bucking as she pushes in as deep as she can with one hard thrust, then begins to roll her hips far more gently, thrusting shallowly but letting the toy rock repeatedly against that most sensitive spot inside of him. His eyes are screwed tightly shut; his mouth opens but the stuttering cry that comes out of him is almost soundless. Very nearly too much then, she thinks with a sly smile, continuing with the motions. It not only physically stimulates him to the point of desperation in a way that excites Kitty immensely also but these movements simultaneously provide her with greater physical stimulation against her own private parts. If Moran is nearly on the verge of climax then Kitty is not so very far behind.

     She slides one hand off his hip, slipping it around in front to stroke his rigid arousal, finally taking pity on him. It only takes two strokes before he shudders and comes with a further strangled cry that might just contain her name, his release spattering onto the sheets. She continues to fuck him through it, using combined internal and external stimulation to draw out his climax as long as possible and milk out the last few drops before he slumps beneath her, his body trembling from the exertion. The toy slips out of him as he shifts position and Kitty does not trouble to slide it back in. It has served its purpose admirably but is now surplus to her needs; thus she swiftly unbuckles the straps and casts the toy aside. She needs neither the limited physical stimulation it can give her nor the sight of it sliding into Moran to excite her further.

     She rests one hand on his back, half to keep him there so she may relish the sight of him like this a little longer, half to support herself, and slips the other hand inside her drawers. She could get him to finish her off – she knows that he would willingly do so and that he is really quite expert at using both his hands and his mouth upon her – but then she would not be able to watch him like this. She leaves him be as she rubs herself, biting down slightly on her lower lip as she regards him still. Part of what arouses her so much is how powerful it makes her feel to take him in such a way, her clothed, him naked; her penetrating him, him eagerly taking every inch of it. And part of it is the sight of big, strong, former Colonel Sebastian Moran lying there on the bed, totally spent,  _thoroughly fucked_ even which pushes her to the brink of climax, then – as she continues to pleasure herself with her fingers – all the way through it. She comes with a strangled cry of her own but definitely does not, she thinks later, call out Sebastian’s name.

     Finally done, she collapses beside him on the bed, tugging him over closer to her whilst carefully trying to avoid the wet patch he has made on the bed. The sheets will need to be stripped and washed shortly but it can wait a few minutes while they recover.

     Moran watches her with his cool blue eyes, predatory, but not a threat, not to her. There is amusement clearly showing in his deep-set eyes.

     “How pretty you look when I’m takin’ you,” she says. She regards him a moment, smiling at him, before closing her eyes.

      “I’ve always thought the same of you,” he says, for of course he has taken her in the more conventional way before now enough times for her to lose count. He leans over her and places a brief kiss on the tip of her lightly freckled nose, which makes her giggle, then drops his head to kiss her throat; down her neck; over the tops of her breasts, before he rolls over onto his back beside her.

     “You’re a queer one, Seb,” she says, and now he laughs.

     “Aye, maybe so.” Leaning over towards the nightstand, he snags a cigarette paper and his tobacco and shifts up the bed a little, resting against the headboard.  

     Kitty watches him roll a cigarette, liking the precise, deft movements of his long fingers, before he slips the finished cigarette between his lips and sets a lit match to it. He takes a long drag on it, blowing out only a little smoke after a moment or two, before he glances at her again. “You’re beautiful, Kitty,” he says, reaching over to brush that stray lock of hair back off her forehead with one hand, before he offers her the cigarette with the other.

     She smiles still at the remark, pleased by it. She takes the cigarette from him and takes a pull on it, sure she can taste him faintly on the paper as she puts it to her lips. Blowing smoke up towards the ceiling, she settles herself into the pillow before handing the cigarette back. “You’ll be off then shortly,” she says. It is not an invitation for him to leave; not a rejection of him, for she knows he will leave of his own accord anyway soon enough; that he never stays for long.

     “Unless you want me to stay.” He laughs again, and Kitty laughs too.

     “Not likely, I ain’t having you lazing about, clutterin’ up the place. A girl ‘as things to do you know.”

     “Well then.” He leans over to place another kiss upon her cheek before sliding off the bed, though he hands her the cigarette before he retreats further. “You finish it.” He moves over to the fireplace where Kitty had set a bucket of water to keep warm earlier. Taking up a piece of rag and a sliver of soap, he sets about washing himself down.

     “Very nice,” Kitty remarks from her excellent vantage point on the bed, admiring how the firelight plays over his lean but muscular body. She taps cigarette ash away vaguely in the direction of the ashtray on the nightstand.

     “Are you ogling me, woman?” he asks, grinning again.

     “Always.” With a smirk playing over her lips, she sits up slightly. “That and rememberin’ how good you looked when I ‘ad my _prick_ up your arse.” She reaches down beside the bed, picks up a clean towel and tosses it at him.

      Moran catches the towel and swiftly dries himself down. “Well then,” he says, padding barefoot around the room, collecting his clothes. “You ‘old that thought until the next time we meet.”

     “I’ll do that.” She grins at him before after a second or two her face takes on a more solemn expression. “Seb…” She watches him pull up his trousers. “You know, if you ever need to confide in me…”

     He glances up from buttoning up his trousers. “About what?”

     “If you’ve got deeper feelings for someone else…”

      He narrows his eyes slightly. “I haven’t.”

     “Well…” How foolish men can be, Kitty thinks, so afraid to admit even to themselves what they want sometimes. What good would trying to force him to admit to it do though? He would only become more stubborn and tight-lipped and it might irretrievably damage their friendship. He will tell her when he’s ready, she supposes. “If you do develop them… you can tell me, I won’t be offended, even if it means… we must break off our dalliances.” She would miss all of this certainly – it is a most convenient and _interesting_ arrangement she has with Moran – but she’d give it up without a fight if she had to for his sake, and she is certain that he would do the same for her in return (not, she thinks, that there is any chance of her ever committing herself to some man; she values her freedom far too highly for that).

     Moran laughs, though the laugh sounds just a tad too forced. “You know me, Kitty, I ain’t one for the finer feelings.”

     “No,” she says, her lips pressed into a wry smile. “Course not.” She puts the cigarette to her lips again and takes another drag on it, her golden-brown eyes meeting his blue ones.

     He drops his gaze to finish buttoning his shirt. Significantly, he chooses not to argue the point further, which only proves further to Kitty that she’s right.

     “Make sure you shut the door properly on your way out,” she tells him as he pulls on his waistcoat. “It ain’t been catching right.”

     “Of course.” Moran sits down briefly on the rather rickety wooden chair in the corner to pull on his boots. “Kitty,” he says after neatly lacing them up, raising his eyes to meet hers again.

     “Mm?”

     He looks at her for a moment, lips slightly parted as if he is on the cusp of saying something more. But abruptly he glances away again. “Don’t matter.” He stands up and retrieves his jacket, slipping this on but only troubling to fasten the top three buttons. “Until next time then.”

    “Until then.” She gives him a final fond smile, which he returns before he grabs his overcoat and hat from the hooks by the door and slips out without another word, carefully pulling the door closed behind him.

     Kitty lies back down on the bed, which is very comfortable and far better to lie in alone than to share with someone else for long. The sheets can wait a few more minutes to be changed, even if the lingering odour of sex isn’t an entirely pleasant one now the moment has passed. The smell is rivalled by the whiff of the smoke from the cigarette clasped between her slim fingers, like the ghost of her lover’s presence lingering in the room.

     Poor deluded Seb, she thinks as she finishes smoking it. How totally absurd it is that he can indulge in such perverse, private acts with her yet still cannot bring himself to admit perhaps even to himself that he has come to love some man he probably should not have fallen for. She will support him whatever happens but it’s further proof of her suspicion that falling in love makes fools of everyone and it’s a game she’s far better out of; far better to stick to her habit of having friendships just with a bit on the side. This most intimate arrangement will not last forever, she is certain of that; it may well not last very much longer at all in fact, not if Seb really is going to go and lay his heart on the line with someone else, but, she thinks with a sly smile as she grinds out the cigarette stump in the ashtray, she fully intends to enjoy it while she can. 


End file.
